I am an older sibling. I now have two young boys of my own and they are two and a half years apart in age. They are best friends. It is a wonderful sight to watch them play, laugh, screw around and have inside jokes with one another. A quick search of the Google machine reveals that there have been an abundance of studies, both scientific and not, about birth order, personality traits and all kinds of “clues” that lead to figuring out what kind of adult person the birth order has a grip on.
I don’t need science to see the following traits in my two boys:
First born: Rule follower, planner, hard-working, opinionated, organizer, a bit of OCD in terms of neatness and time.
Second born: Laid back, easy going, sweet and kind to everyone, hysterical, a risk taker, explorer, and likes his alone quiet time.
Same parents, same environment, same process. Vanessa and I try our best to treat both boys equally although a recent dinner conversation revealed what the kids think:
Me: Do mommy and I have the same rules for both of you?
Oldest: Well, sort of, but Ted gets more Lego sets and I have to do more tasks.
Youngest: That’s not fair, Tim gets Star Wars cards and I have to do more tasks.
Me: I give one of you 1 million dollars or both of you 100,000 each. You cannot share the million. What choice will you make?
Oldest: Wait, can I put the money in the bank, then have you match the deposit and then take it out to get double funds?
Youngest: Hang on, I cannot share the million? What if I spend it all and then give people things that I buy? If not, then I will take 100K and share it with my family.
Oldest: Can I take my 100k and then Ted gives me his and we put both in one bank account and then you match that so we would actually have 400k at the end. What about that?
Youngest: Tim is a moron and he doesn’t understand the question.
What I learned: Tim is always trying for an angle. His brain is scary fast at looking for a hack, while our younger guy Ted operates straight from his heart. He will still nap with me and sometimes asks me to lay down with him….this kid is going to be in the helping profession and will likely need to bail Tim out of jail from some scam….
Needless to say, the kids have their own minds and their own little strong worldview, even at this young age. I love it all and I love watching them bond. Sometimes they ask me why I am looking at them and saying nothing. I respond that I am “just taking it all in.”
But I blew it. My sister is three years younger than me, and we have a solid relationship now. She is amazing Auntie Sheila to my boys and is a wonderful, smart, talented, human being. She is also a brilliant writer who has been published several times. I envy her ability to put words in the right order to make the reader feel laughter, joy, glory, as well as think deeply, understand the struggles of the human condition, all while looking at the world through a lens that few others can see, never mind analyze and appreciate.
Growing up, I was a total dick about 90% of the time. I think about this a lot now and I can’t understand why I acted like this. I blew it. We barely played together unless I had nothing better to do. We bonded over nothing, and since I am a boy and she is a girl, I thought she would never be interested in cool stuff like Legos, Star Wars, Dungeons&Dragons, baseball cards, sports, fishing, or music. I regret my behavior, my teasing, and my jokes that came at her expense for a large portion of our childhood.
When we were both in our teens, she tried to share her developing love of live theater. The family went to Boston to see Les Miserables and I thought it was dumb. I blew that too. As of this writing, I have seen it at least a dozen times, I have played percussion in a pit orchestra for it, seen it on Broadway in NYC and have taught the musical in class trying to awaken a love for theater in hundreds of 8th graders. It is my favorite live show. Sheila deserves the credit for opening my eyes to the beauty of the stage musical.
I am also burdened by the nature of the universe that had nothing to do with either one of us growing up: my diagnosis. I am painfully aware that while she was about 8 years old until I left for college (and maybe beyond) that my existence in our house took more time, energy, and coddling than hers did. I had so many doctors appointments, physical therapy at the house, full leg removable night splints that I had to wear each night, having my parents stretch my legs three times a day, and worrying about whether or not I was going to fall in the house or down the stairs.
Our parents tried to keep a level playing field, but as a parent now, I am sure that they were terrified about what was happening to their son, at the cost of emotional exhaustion, and sacrifice, there was no way that my sister didn’t get the shit end of the stick on that deal too. As we have become adults, we joke that she has it better now because she is still walking, but I’m not sure that she doesn’t still have the shit end since so many people give me useless labels like “inspiration” and “hero.” I am neither.
My sister is my inspiration. I cannot imagine how hard it is to have a sibling who treated you poorly and still works hard today to keep our relationship solid, secure, while still finding ways to bond (80’s movie quotes, SNL skits, and our latest find: Market Basket Classics playlist on Spotify…it’s a New England thing).
I love watching her interact with my kids and I see her rolling her eyes at my oldest while telling me that it “serves me right” to watch my first born acting, at times, like I did. She remembers. I don’t think she will ever get over Macho Grande. Those wounds run pretty deep.
All joking aside. I blew it growing up, but I am trying hard each day to let her know, through actions, that I was completely wrong in how I treated her. I have a vivid memory of a night in our parent’s living room. I had done or said something to upset her and she went into her room. My father caught wind of it and he was pissed. I was likely about 10 or 11….
“What is wrong with you? Where do these words and actions come from? Let me tell you something young man….there are two kinds of people in this world. Givers and takers. Over and over again I watch you. You are a taker. You take from everyone with your words and your wise ass mouth. Take, take, take. You could give that a rest for a while and try being more of a giver. I have no use for a taker in this house.”
And…he walks out of the living room. Mic drop. I am sitting on the couch in tears and having no real idea what he said. No idea on a deep level. I thought about that for years. Hell, I just revisited for you and got a little shaky while typing the words. I can see my father’s gritted teeth and reddened face while he basically told me to stop being an asshole.
He wasn’t wrong. I blew it after that too. That little speech didn’t really sink in until I was much older, and in a relationship where I was the giver and the woman was an emotional taker. It drained me. I finally got the message. I still have taker tendencies, but I try to balance the scales by giving as much as possible.
Last week, Sheila and I, along with my wife and her husband, took the kids to Disney World for their first trip. We ate Mickey Bars, went on rides, had great food, many laughs, and good conversation. She swam with the kids, took them wherever they wanted whenever they wanted and dealt with them being off the wall, hyped up on the thrill of all the Walt Stimulus (it’s MAGICAL!) and was fun Auntie Sheila.
I will remember the trip forever and only wish I could rewind to the 1980’s and have a do over of growing up in the house with such a gifted mind on the other side of my bedroom wall. Sheila, I can never put those days right, but I will continue to try. I love you and being your big brother.
Also, you owe me $20. Just kidding. See? There I go, taking again.
Stay safe, stay awesome, and join Sheila’s Substack. She puts all of the words in the right order.
I am positive that I was about to fill this bucker and pour it over my sister’s head. DICK.
Patrick moeschen 